In Agamemnon she saw
_her father_; to him she could prefer her claim. In Achilles she
saw a _Man_, the crown of creation, enough to fill the world with
his presence, were all other beings blotted from its spaces.
[Footnote: Men do not often reciprocate this pure love.
"Her prentice han' she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses o',"
is a fancy, not a feeling, in their more frequently passionate and
strong than noble or tender natures.]
The reply of Achilles is as noble. Here is his bride; he feels it now,
and all his vain vaunting are hushed.
"Daughter of Agamemnon, highly blest
Some god would make me, if I might attain
Thy nuptials. Greece in thee I happy deem,
And thee in Greece.
* * * in thy thought
Revolve this well; death is a dreadful thing."
How sweet it her reply,--and then the tender modesty with which she
addresses him here and elsewhere as "_stranger_"
"Reflecting not on any, thus I speak:
Enough of wars and slaughters from the charms
Of Helen rise; but die not thou for me,
O Stranger, nor distain thy sword with blood,
But let me save my country if I may.
_Achilles_.
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